


written by fire

by sinequanon



Series: Stiles & Mikaelsons [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Supernatural Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 16:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12729921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: A power-hungry man holds most of Beacon Hills's supernaturals hostage. It’s only for a little while, though; he’s going to regret it rather quickly.





	written by fire

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this is pointless. I’m not sure why I wrote it, but it’s kind of fun, so hopefully, someone will enjoy it anyway.

“This is going to be wonderful, you know.” The man checked the trap one final time before looking up at the assembled group before him. “After I kill you--any of you, really--Lucifer himself will offer me a seat in his realm.”

For their part, the group he was holding hostage was pretty evenly divided between disbelief and disdain: disbelief from the werewolves and disdain from the vampires. That the latest threat to Beacon Hills turned out to be a literal madman playing waiter was actually something of a letdown; not to mention, it was ruining a perfectly nice party.

“You do realize,” Elijah asked cooly, “that demons are the stuff of fantasy?”

“Oh, no,” the man disagreed, “that's just what they want you to think. That's why nobody notices when they walk around whispering poison in people's ears.”

Stiles scoffed from the corner of the room where he and his pack were gathered. He ignored Lydia’s hisses that he sit back down and the others’ cries of alarm, and stood to face the man.

“ _Ars Goetia_ , right?” he asked stepping past the objecting Mikaelsons and the Hales and stopping near the edge of the rented ballroom. “I doubt your employer will look favorably on murder,” he shrugged, “or destroying such a nice venue. That's bad for business.”

The man didn't take his eyes off of Stiles. “They’ll thank me when I rid this town of monsters.”

“By becoming one yourself?” Stiles asked lightly. He could see Erica creeping closer out of the corner of his eye, and Rebekah blurring through his peripheral vision. They no doubt thought that Stiles was providing a distraction when really, he was just savoring the moment. Stiles cocked his head inquiringly as the man drew yet another useless symbol onto the floor.

“The problem with your plan is that you’ve made a few too many faulty assumptions,” Stiles continued. “You have just enough information to be dangerous, and not enough to accomplish anything of consequence.”

A sudden swear and the smell of burning flesh announced that the werewolf and vampire had reached the edge of the flimsy barrier. Stiles knew without looking that they were both fine. It was just another example of the man’s incompetence, really; if the symbols had constructed a true demon prison, they would be in significantly more pain.

The man, of course, didn't know that, and sneered at Stiles. “I could kill any of you right now,” he announced over the growls.

 _Not likely_. “Maybe,” Stiles replied, edging closer. He nodded toward the bowl. “But don't you want to know why no demons have answered your summons yet?”

The man frowned down at the bowl, as if he had momentarily forgotten why it was there, and looked back up at Stiles. “It's because I haven't made a sacrifice,” he growled, as if Stiles was the incompetent one.

“No,” Stiles stopped at the edge of the barrier. “If you had done it right, someone would have come anyway. That’s part of the reason why demons are so troublesome, really; that insatiable curiosity...the thrill of temptation.” Stiles deliberately pressed his toes against the edge of the barrier.

“Stiles, get away from there!”

Stiles easily tuned out the sudden wave of concerned voices. It was appreciated, but entirely unnecessary.

He stepped over the line.

The man gasped like a dying fish, but the room behind them went suddenly silent.

(To be fair, a shocking shift in worldview could do that to a person, let alone to a group as secure in their knowledge of the supernatural as his friends. It was going to drive Peter, Nik, and Lydia all crazy that they hadn't noticed, regardless of the fact that Stiles was something that shouldn't exist.)

“Do you want to know what you did wrong?”

Stiles looked exactly the same--human, harmless--but the man paled as he approached.

“I don't,” he stammered, taking a step back. “I didn't--”

“To be completely honest, humans are inconsequential to us. Luci cares for them insomuch as our Father asked him to, as is his duty. We all do the work that has been tasked to us. It is history that has twisted our stories into a mockery of themselves.”

“But--”

“Humans can't become demons. Even if it were possible, Lucifer would never offer that power to someone like you. You think to entice someone with your desperation, and your unwilling victims?” Stiles scoffed. “If I were a lesser demon, I would smite you where you stand rather than let you reap the punishment you so justly deserve.”

The man gaped at Stiles, who was now standing barely three feet away.

“By the way, where's my gift?” Stiles asked with a dark grin.

“What?” the man inquired dumbly.

“When you summon a demon, you offer a gift, in both the hopes that the demon will accept your proposal, and that he won’t rend you limb from limb.” He gestured vaguely at the group behind him. “I hardly consider my friends’ potential deaths an acceptable gift, so what’s preventing me from spilling the rest of your blood into that bowl?”

“Stiles!” Scott’s alpha voice rang through the room, and Stiles turned to look at him. “Are you okay?”

Stiles took a minute to glance around the room. The shock had mostly worn off, and had been replaced by a strange mix of amusement and concern, with vague hints of nervousness and fear. Scott only looked concerned, though, and Stiles smiled.

“I'll be with you in a minute, Scott,” he said silkily. “My new friend and I need to come to an understanding.”

“You’re not a demon,” the man announced haughtily when Stiles turned back to him. Stiles rolled his eyes. Perhaps this man was insane, after all, if he couldn't even recognize the kind of creature that he desired to be. It didn't matter, in any case.

Stiles watched him, silently, an inscrutable look on his face, and waited for the man to notice.

It started with gentle, almost cautious scratching somewhere near the back of the room, followed by dull creaks and thumps. Other odd noises echoed through the space for close to ten minutes, but it was the strange whirring coming from just outside the door that made the man jump back in fear, only to be met by a strange thing that looked a lot like a walking alarm clock.

He gave a cry of surprise and nearly tripped over his own feet in his hurry to get away. “What the--”

Stiles quirked his eyebrow at him. “Have you heard of _dokkaebi_? It's a Korean word for the mischievous little demons that are born out of inanimate objects. They like to prank people who’ve been naughty.” He paused, and gave the man a smile that left the human trembling. “Those that serve me are much more _efficient_ than that.”

The whole room watched as nearly a dozen dokkaebi, made out of found objects from around the hall, surrounded the man. It should have been comical--a clock, a stepping stone, a dinner knife, standing impassively around their attacker--yet everyone could feel the menace and glee rolling through the room as they waited for instructions.

“You can't do this,” the man cried.

“Take him,” Stiles said, and the dokkaebi bowed at Stiles before they melted into what looked like shadows and pulled the screaming man down through the floor and out of sight.

That done, he snapped his fingers to clear up the mess and turned back to his friends with a smile.

“Demon I can see,” Lydia said after a beat of heavy silence, “but what’s with the bowing? Don't tell me you're some sort of prince or something?”

Stiles laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem “A Small Story about the Sky” by Alberto Rios.
> 
> Next week: a canon-divergent crossover with some body-swapping fun.
> 
> (On a side note: my regular commenters will have noticed that I completely failed _again_ at answering comments last week. Sorry! I will be taking care of them after I finish today’s posting.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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